Regret
by a-brittle-heart
Summary: What would it take for a man like Doflamingo to feel regret? Perhaps a lifetime spent in solitude, or maybe a visit from an old flame. (Somewhat of a drabble; a suggestion from empressakura655 got me thinking, so I decided to write it. Enjoy!)


The nearby cells echoed with the haunting sound of bitter laughter.

"I expected an assassin." Doflamingo stated, an element of pride still in his voice though he lay chained to the floor of Impel Down's Eternal Hell.

"As if you'd ever be so lucky."

More laughter, now coming out as scattered coughs of a man struck by sickness and waiting to pass.

"How did you get in?"

"I'm royalty now; nothing takes as much effort as it used to."

"You're welcome, then."

Viola narrowed her eyebrows – though she was currently standing in one of the world's most dangerous places just to see him, that man still repulsed her.

Doflamingo groaned – his patience had dissipated weeks prior; it was now being traded for his sanity, or at least whatever remained of it still. "If you're here to stand and watch, I'd rather have you kill me instead."

"Never would I offer you such pleasure; to die by my hand."

"And yet you deprive yourself of that pleasure, too – life tends to wield a double-edged sword, doesn't it?"

"I'm not sure how you think I see it, but I'm very much content with you just rotting away behind the strongest bars in the world."

Another laugh – dry and heavy with hatred.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see this with my own eyes."

"Was it worth it?"

"It could only be better if the entirety of Dressrosa was here with me."

"Well, then – I'm glad I could grant you at least some of the satisfaction."

"You could try for a million centuries and you could still never grant me anything."

"You're being a bit harsh, sweetheart."

Chains rustled as Doflamingo instinctively jerked to wipe the spit off his face. "You disgust me."

"Of course, I do – I killed your mother, tortured your entire bloodline for ten years, and on top of it all I treated you as if I owned you. Do you remember the time I proposed?"

"I remember _everything._"

"I've never been slapped so hard in my life – but I meant it, you know; the proposal. I could've made you the happiest Queen in the world."

"Maybe – if you choked on the ring."

Doflamingo kept his laughter contained this time, only a few coarse breaths escaping his throat. Still, he couldn't help the itch at his curiosity whenever he thought of her –ever since she'd become his loyal follower and stayed for a decade, despite him having ruined her life without as much as a second thought. And now, for a reason he could never even hope to explain to himself, she was standing there, just within a few steps of him, spitting in his face but almost as if she'd missed him. Perhaps the fine line between sin and virtue is nostalgia.

"Do you regret it?"

A loaded question, looming overhead like a thundercloud – destructive, dangerous and unpredictable. An answer other than a scoff would require effort, and for some reason, either the ever-persistent nature of man or the nearing end of his sanity, Doflamingo considered it. What would have, or rather could have been, had he decided to let go of the lust for power?

All the terror and grief and sorrow of many, many people that he could've spared if only he'd decided that a title wasn't worth it, or that he would be a just king, a righteous king, a kind king to his people. Then he would've maybe had fulfillment, genuine happiness and perhaps one day, even empathy – maybe care and emotion, and maybe even love, and maybe most of all for _her_, the woman standing outside of his jail cell.

The proposal could've even led to a wedding, and they could've been married at sunset, someplace quiet and beautiful where their loved ones gather to celebrate, everyone happy and enchanted by music; someplace where all roads are encumbered with sunflower and dandelion and the horizon is nothing but amber and glee. Maybe she'd give him a son; a beautiful boy that would walk and talk and play and laugh; one unlike him – perhaps more like his brother. Perhaps his brother would've been there too, celebrating life together with him – if only the royal blood coursing through his veins would've been quieter when craving, lusting, _begging_ to conquer.

He would've overcome it all; the corruption at the very base of his existence, the evil that sent him to expel other's joy, the greed that wouldn't allow anyone to be strong and worthy and mighty and powerful but himself– he would've overcome it all, and all and more perhaps for _her_. He knew it would all be for her; not his brother or his son or any other – just her, because he'd been at the threshold of this very decision before, all when he'd decided to propose.

But he was rejected – he'd already done enough to no longer be deserving of more chances, and perhaps it was best.

But perhaps it wasn't too late – if he would say it all now, if he would confess to her, maybe he'd one day exit this Eternal Hell and maybe they would be together once again, and maybe this time he'd be human. Maybe he still hadn't lost the chance to live a life fulfilled, as his own father wished for them, and maybe he still could learn what it is to love and to care and to be happy and compassionate.

Perhaps the answer to the question doesn't matter – perhaps she'd been listening to his thoughts this entire time and it wouldn't make a difference; no matter what he'd say, she'd already know the truth. So then, maybe he would confess, and maybe he would really say he felt regret, and maybe he would no longer have to hurt someone he could've instead spent his life protecting and caring for.

But, Impel Down has protocols – no one comes here with their abilities freed. The truth still isn't out… and why should it be?

Doflamingo laughed.

"No."


End file.
